


The Winter Palace

by M_hys_a



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: But Solas Does, Dancing, F/M, Jealous Solas, Lavellan Doesn't Understand, Please Note the Rating, The Commander is in Love, The Ladies Love Cullen, shamelessly romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5126795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_hys_a/pseuds/M_hys_a
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her request to dance is declined by her elven lover, Deirdre Lavellan finds herself compelled to dance with an entirely different sort of man, and she fails to understand the consequences of this unexpected embrace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winter Palace

                While Deirdre understood the logic behind it, she could not help feeling hurt when Solas declined her request to dance with him at the Winter Palace. She had found him leaning against the wall, smiling a cool and oddly mysterious smile and seeming altogether at ease in an environment that she would have thought utterly foreign to him. She had done her best to work through every possible “practical” question with him before coming to the single one that really mattered to her: would you like to dance with me?, and his refusal had been gentle, but firm. His tone was arch and laced with a strange, dangerous sort of confidence that was utterly distinct from his normal voice. He had sounded like a different man. He had sounded like a stranger.

                She felt no such confidence. She wanted to dance with him, to be close to him, to feel the touch of someone that she knew and trusted and be shielded from the crowds of strangers that looked at her like she was a creature let out of its cage for the curious observation of others rather than a figure of political power. She supposed she could not blame them for their confusion. With her lean elven frame, her vallaslin, and the ever-glowing Anchor, she hardly looked like the sort of woman who should be invited to a ball. But again, her understanding of the logic behind their arched eyebrows did not make them any less painful for her to bear. How could Solas do it? He seemed exhilarated by it all, as if by existing both in and outside of this world simultaneously he was gaining some sort of power. How did it empower him but crush her?

                She made her way silently to the edge of the room, pressing herself against the wall and staring at the crowd of dancers. The room seemed awash in ever-moving swaths of flowing, richly-colored fabrics, the dancers who wore them glimmering in the light like visions from a dream. It was all so beautiful that it hardly seemed real. Suddenly, she spotted a familiar golden head moving in the crowd. The Commander. He was dancing with a woman with long, flowing red hair, whose emerald-green dress accentuated her every curve. Deirdre resisted a wry smile. As she had expected, the Inquisition’s resident shemlen storybook prince had captured the attention of several women at the Palace. _At least_ someone _is benefiting from this experience_ , she thought. She turned her gaze back to Solas, still leaning against the opposite wall. He was watching her with a small smile. She had resolved to flee when she heard a familiar voice.

                “What’s _this_ , no-one to dance with the Inquisitor? Who shall we torture in punishment for this _abhorrent_ crime?”

                She felt her face break into a grin. Dorian.

                She turned as he sidled up beside her. While handsome and accustomed to a life of luxury, she realized that that he likely felt very much out of place at this event as well. Like her, his heritage made him an outcast here, and the thought made her reach out and slip her arm through his.

                “This is just awful, isn’t it?” she murmured. Dorian let out a clipped laugh.

                “Darling, I’d rather be back in the Forbidden Oasis than here,” he said dryly.

                “I’m sorry that I asked you to come,” she said sadly. “It was foolish of me not to think how unpleasant this would be for you.” He gave her a kind smile.

                “Deirdre, you know that my feelings would have been hurt if I hadn’t been included in this little adventure. This awful ball is just one part of it. The journey, the chance to laugh at the utter spectacle that is Orlais, and the benefit of watching you see more of the world is enough to make up for having to put up with a bunch of detestable Orlesians and their stupid masks for an evening.” Deirdre laughed.

                “I love you, Dorian,” she told him.

                “Yes, yes, dear, I _know_ ,” he said lightly. He rolled his eyes, but the tightened grip on her arm told her that he returned the sentiment.

                The song had ended, and when she looked back out at the crowd she realized the Commander was making his way towards them.

                “Well, well, well,” Dorian chided. “Look who has taken a break from his survey of beautiful Orlesian ladies with fluttering pulses and heaving bosoms to speak to his humble comrades,” he said, and the Commander grimaced. Deirdre choked back a laugh.

                “Hello, Commander! As you can see, we outcasts stick together in these scenarios,” she told him with a smile. “Forgive us our bitterness, it’s just that it is not easy to be detested.”

                “Truly. Please assure us that you will do your best to experience enough… _action_ this evening for the both of us,” Dorian instructed, and this time Deirdre could not hold back her laugh. She was amazed that the Commander even had the courage to approach the two of them alone anymore. It never ended well for him.

                “If I have my way, that will be my last dance of the evening,” the Commander grumbled bitterly. “I am a military man. These sorts of events are _not_ part of my job description.”

                Deirdre was surprised. “But you look like such a good dancer! And your partner was so lovely! What’s not to enjoy?”

                He gave her a wry look. “I don’t enjoy being forced to dance when I would rather be surveying the perimeters of this palace to make sure that they are actually secure. I’m having serious doubts about the safeguards that Empress Celene put in place. I don’t think it’s safe for you here.” Dorian rolled his eyes and sighed.

                “Maker’s _breath_ , Commander, don’t you _ever_ let up? We’re not even at Skyhold, you don’t have to be working. Let Celene’s goons do the worrying this evening.”

                “My job is to keep the Inquisition safe,” the Commander said evenly. “That responsibility doesn’t cease to exist when I’m outside of Skyhold’s walls.”

                Dorian simply shook his head. “Cullen, you are hopeless.”

                Deirdre opened her mouth to speak, but she stiffened and fell silent when she saw a familiar face approaching. It was Vivienne, glittering and fantastic in her shimmering gown and practically radiating disapproval.

                “Inquisitor, _dear_ , this is all very untoward. Why are you hiding yourself away like a mouse when you should be out there, socializing and gaining allies for the Inquisition?” her voice was soft, but her tone was stern. Deirdre balked.

                “Vivienne, I fear I would do more harm than good out there,” she said honestly. “I am not very good at maneuvering these sorts of social situations. I… I am afraid of crowds,” she admitted.

                Vivienne waved her hand dismissively. “Nonsense. You don’t even have to _speak_ , darling, you just need to be _spoken of_. Our Commander here has done wonders for the Inquisition in that regard simply by serving as a dance partner. Several noble families are all aflutter about the Inquisition because of its gallant war chief and his…”

                Deirdre cut her off abruptly. “Yes, well, that’s because the Commander perfectly fits the sort of image that they _want_ to see,” she pointed out. “Just look at him. Meanwhile, I’m an elf, I’m female, I’m not beautiful, I’m not _gallant_ , and I’m _not_ a good dancer,” she hissed. “All I would do by going out there is make an even bigger fool of myself than I already have simply by being here.”

                Vivienne gave her a strange smile. “Well, that’s truly unfortunate, dear, as I’ve already asked Celene that the next dance be dedicated to you. It would be simply unthinkable if you did not take part.”

                Deirdre felt her mouth open, and she suddenly became aware of a woman speaking from the stage where the musicians were performing. “Attention, everyone! Please be advised that the next dance shall be dedicated to the Lady Inquisitor, otherwise known as Deirdre Lavellan. The piece to be performed is one that was specially commissioned for her to honor the Inquisition’s fallen at Haven. The piece is called ‘ _The Inquisitor’s Lament_.’” Deirdre felt her back stiffen at the title. Was this a roundabout way of mocking her? All of the other dances up to this point had been upbeat, jaunty affairs. She felt herself begin to tremble, both in anger and in shyness.

                “You had better get out there, darling,” Vivienne said coolly, giving her a gentle but unmistakable shove. “The Commander will join you.” Based on his expression, she guessed that the Commander was as taken aback by this sudden command as Deirdre was. Deirdre realized that every pair of eyes in the room was suddenly upon her, watching with curiosity, disdain, and amusement as they waited for her next move. She shifted her gaze to the Commander, whose expression had changed. He held out his hand to her without speaking, and she felt her heart begin to race. She had practiced Orlesian dancing with Josephine and Vivienne back at Skyhold just _in case_ she were forced to dance at the Winter Palace, but she had never expected to actually have to _utilize_ those lessons - and certainly not with an entire room as the audience. She slowly extended her hand to the Commander’s and raised her eyes to his as his fingers gently encircled hers.

                “Commander,” she whispered breathlessly as the two of them made their way to the center of the room, suddenly clear of other dancers, “I cannot dance. I’m going to look like a fool.”

                “It’s alright, Inquisitor,” he whispered, his voice sounding strained. “Just let me lead.”

                As they made their way across the dance floor, the musicians had begun a low, melancholic strain to accompany their movements. Deirdre felt herself begin to tremble when they reached the center, at which point she turned her body nervously to the Commander’s. Wordlessly, he lifted the arm that held her hand and slid his other arm around her waist. Remembering the pose, she moved forward so that their bodies were touching and laced her free arm around his neck, glancing at their entwined hands and trying not to feel sick. As soon as they were in position, additional strings joined in, starting a sad and lilting melody. When the Commander started moving, she had no choice but to follow. The rest of the dance was a blur – she was aware of the song building in volume and swelling in sound, and of the Commander’s gentle increase of their pace to accompany it. She was aware that her body seemed to fit oddly well with the Commander’s, her lean frame entwining with the warmth and bulk of his in a surprisingly pleasing mold. She was aware that the song was beautiful, its cyclical swelling melody evoking images of beauty and sadness in equal measure. She was aware that the Commander smelled wonderful, his clothes and skin emanating a warm and musky scent that was oddly comforting. She was aware of the burning eyes of every person in the room upon her, and aware that, amazingly, she did not misstep. True to his word, the Commander led the dance completely, so that she needed only follow his movements as she had with Josephine and Vivienne to find herself floating across the dance floor with ease. She had no glimmering dress to swirl with her movements, but Deirdre found herself nearly enjoying the experience. _No wonder women enjoy dancing with the Commander_ , she thought, _if he’s a skilled enough partner that even I can enjoy this ballroom style_. At one point, she glanced nervously up at him with a small smile, and she found him gazing down at her with a strange look on his face. Her stomach clenched, and an odd feeling passed through her body, so she returned her gaze to their joined hands. Her fingers looked long and delicate entwined with his, like the bones of a bird. She did not look at him again until the song began to slow down, the layers of strings fading out until only the original, sad strains remained. The Commander had slowed their pace in the meantime, twirling their bodies in time so that, when the final strain ended, they stood exactly in the center of the floor where they had begun their dance. Deirdre felt her stomach drop out from under her. _He had done it. She had survived._ In a fit of impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his cheek, murmuring, “ _Thank you_ , Commander,” in his ear before dropping back and stepping away. The crowd had begun to move then, erupting in a sort of shocked but enthusiastic clapping, but Deirdre found herself unable to focus on anything but the Commander’s eyes. They were etched with sadness, and she could not understand why. But soon the crowd moved to engulf them, and she watched as he was surrounded by glittering women with painted masks and tightly-laced corsets, gradually separating from her as she found herself surrounded by curious onlookers as well, women and men who poked and prodded her and asked her questions like where did an elf learn to dance so finely? And what sort of ink did you use when getting those marks on your face? And is it true that Dalish women give birth on their hands and knees like animals?

                Deirdre was hardly aware of their questions. Thankfully for her and for the Inquisition as a whole, Vivienne and Josephine had appeared at her side nearly immediately afterwards, fielding their questions and steering the conversation invariably towards aggressive and voracious politicking. Meanwhile, Deirdre stood behind them, silent, wanting to melt into the walls and disappear. This continued for an hour, until she felt a grip on her sleeve. She turned, and was surprised to see an elven serving girl addressing her. She looked terrified. “In- Inquisitor,” she managed. “There is someone who needs to see you. It is very important. Can you – can you come quickly?” Deirdre’s eyes shifted to Vivienne and Josephine, both of whom were engrossed in conversation with a group of nobles. They would not notice. Meanwhile, the Commander was dancing with a woman costumed as a swan, her long neck curving around his as their bodies pressed together. Dorian had disappeared. There was no-one to notice that she was gone. She looked back at the elf girl and nodded, and the two of them melted away. It was a benefit that they shared as elven women: it was easy for them to be lost in a crowd.

                Without speaking again, the elven girl led her away from the ballroom and through the winding hallways of the Winter Palace, farther and farther away from the assembled crowd and deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine opulence of the living quarters. Deirdre became uneasy, realizing that that she was weaponless and alone in unfamiliar territory. Had her experience in the ballroom rattled her so much that she had overlooked the obvious threat of an attack? The Commander might have been right. She might be walking into a trap. The serving girl stopped suddenly at a large doorway, and she turned back to Deirdre. Oddly, the elf girl’s eyes seemed to contain a hint of awe as she regarded Deirdre, gesturing to the door and saying only, “He’s in there, my Lady,” before she bowed and departed quickly. Deirdre watched her go with an increasing sense of confusion. She felt she had no choice but to open the door, but she did so with as little noise as she could manage to give herself an opportunity to see whoever it was that awaited her before they became aware of her presence. She drew in a breath when she recognized the shape of Solas outlined against a tall window, standing with his arms folded and looking out. The room was dark except for the moonlight pouring in. As quietly as she could, she closed the door, and approached him.

                “Hello, Solas,” she said quietly. At her voice, he turned to her.

                “Hello, _vhenan_ ,” were his only words of reply. He had an odd look on his face, a look of tenderness and sadness mixed with something that she could not place. It was a complete departure from his earlier demeanor, and she found herself concerned.

                “Is everything alright, Solas?” she asked, taking a step towards him. “Is something the matter?”

                “My heart, I think that there is something happening that I did not expect,” he said quietly, “And I am not sure that I have any right to stop it.”

                She took another step forward, still confused by his cryptic words. “Solas, are you talking about Corypheus? Are you talking about the Inquisition’s plans for later this evening?”

                He studied her for a moment without replying. She tried again. “Solas, please. If you suspect any danger, I need to know it.”

                At her words, he gave a strange smile. “Let us imagine for a moment that I _am_ referring to the plan for this evening, _vhenan_ ,” he said suddenly. “That I have been considering the possibility that we are facing dangers here that we did not anticipate. Our plans would unravel, and you would find yourself forced to make a decision about what to do, and to protect yourself if necessary. I will do my best to support you, but you must be prepared to face that threat alone, if need be. Are you ready, my heart? Are you up to such a task?”

                She felt her brows crease, still confused by his words. “Solas, I face that threat every day. It is the reality of my life as the Inquisitor. Why are you bringing this up now? Have you noticed something out of the ordinary here? If you have, we need to warn the others…”

                Her voice began to trail off as he approached her, standing before her and stroking a finger along her jaw while looking down at her. “You look very beautiful tonight, _vhenan_. Dancing with the Commander, you looked like a vision from a dream.”

                “You saw that?” she asked breathlessly, trying to keep her voice from shaking as she felt her body flare at his touch. His mouth curved into a wry smile.

                “Yes, _vhenan_ , I saw it. Everyone saw it.”

                “I was frightened out of my wits, Solas,” she admittedly quietly. “I felt like a fool.”

                “You did not look like a fool,” he told her, moving his hand to the back of her neck and slipping his other arm around her waist, “You looked like the envy of every other person in the room.”

                Deirdre opened her mouth to protest, but found her lips covered by Solas’ pressing mouth. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body into his as they kissed. His sudden touch, the familiarity and intimacy of it, the flare of desire that it brought, felt like rainfall after a season of drought. She pulled her mouth away from his and kissed his jawline and his neck, biting softly and waiting to hear the quiet groans it elicited from him. His arms began to press her backwards, and her feet stepped in tandem with his until she felt herself press against a piece of furniture. At that, Solas stopped pressing her backwards and instead reached his hands to her chest, unbuttoning the bright Inquisition coat that she wore and revealing the thin garment beneath it. Without speaking, she removed the coat and lifted her arms as he slid the undergarment off as well, his hands moving quickly to unlace the band around her chest. It fell to the ground, and one of his hands gently cupped her breast while the other began working at the laces of her trousers. Solas’ mouth had moved to her neck, his warm breath causing goosebumps down her body as more and more of it was exposed to the chilly air of the room. When the laces of her trousers were free, her hands met his in sliding them over her haunches and down her legs, followed shortly by her smallclothes until she stood naked in front of him. Standing there, bare in the moonlight while he was still fully clothed, was oddly exhilarating, and she fought to keep her breath even as he studied her body. In that moment, she thought, she did not have to make a decision. No-one was looking to her for a command, or a judgment, or a sacrifice. In that moment, all she had to give was herself. For a moment, Solas hesitated, then shook his head slightly and kissed her again, moving against her as abruptly and forcefully as he had when he had returned her first kiss in the Fade. His hands moved to her hips, lifting her and setting her down on the piece of furniture behind them. It must have been a desk, Deirdre thought distantly, as she felt papers beneath her bare skin. Solas’ mouth had returned to her neck, and she let out a small gasp as his fingers made their way between her legs, stroking gently but insistently in the wet and slippery folds. She ran her fingers down his back and pressed her mouth against his shoulder, holding back a guttural moan when he slid one of his fingers inside of her and she heard his breath catch.

                “Solas,” she managed, her voice breathy and uneven, “Are you sure this is alright? You seemed worried, I did not mean to distract you.”

                He turned his face so that their cheeks were touching, and she heard his voice vibrating softly in her ear. “I am alright, _vhenan_. You have reminded me that I must focus on the task at hand. But I am resolved to have you in the meantime… for as long as you are mine.”

                She thought this an odd answer, but a more pressing matter had occurred to her. “What if we are found?” she whispered, feeling her eyes flutter as he slid a second finger inside of her, moving his hand in gentle rhythmic movements. She felt a small chuckle shake his body.

                “We will not be found, _vhenan_. I have made sure of that.” He withdrew his hand and pulled her hips forward so that she was barely resting on the edge of the desk, settling himself on his knees between her legs. He began to kiss the bare skin of her thighs and she nearly hummed with pleasure at the realization of what he planned to do. “We will not be found, Inquisitor. The night is young, and there is much to do, but we can enjoy this moment while we have it. Now, lean back and close your eyes.”

                Deirdre felt her core turn molten, and did as she was told.


End file.
